“A life spent in constant labor is a life wasted, save a man be such a fool as to regard a fulsome obituary notice as ample reward.” ~George Jean Nathan, American drama critic and editor (1882-1958)
It had been one of those days when everyone seemed contentious. Constant interruptions prevented my getting any traction on my work projects and I kept finding small irritating mistakes. At 1:03 my boss called me from a meeting room where everyone was waiting…for me. My “Blackberry” indicated the meeting was at 3:00 not at 1:00. I left a colleague at the restaurant with cash to cover our lunches and rushed back to the office, reaching the meeting room by 1:15.
Upon arrival I was peppered with questions, the answers to which required the context of the conversation which had occurred before my arrival. The answers I gave were great; they just weren’t the answers to the questions they were asking. An hour and a half later I returned to the spot where I had hurriedly parked my car only to be greeted by a $60.00 parking ticket (street cleaning day).
The rest of my day went no better: coworkers were cranky, fellow staff members were uncooperative and none of the phone calls I received seemed to be things anyone else wanted to deal with. By 7:00 PM I decided to call it quits and go home. Traffic was heavier than usual and people seem ruder than usual. Or, was I just driving more aggressively than usual because of my mood?
I arrived home to find dinner waiting, as it always is, no matter how late I am. Still I sullenly stared at my plate, giving Teresa only single syllable responses to her friendly patter. Finishing dinner a little after 9:00 PM I trudged upstairs to bed. After my pre-bed ritual, I clicked off the light, said goodnight to my wife, pulled the blankets up to my chest and crossed my arms over top.
There I lay, staring holes into the darkness. It had been an awful day. Physically and emotionally spent, I was unable to sleep as my mind continued to whir, replaying the events of the day; only the bad ones of course.
Finally my thoughts slowly shifted to God and His apparent absence from my life. The usual thoughts banged about in my brain: Where’s God? Why isn’t He around when I need Him? Why does he seem so far away? What’s this stupid life of mine about anyway? I continued to “play the tapes” of my negative experiences over and over, wearing a groove in my head until my pessimistic litany put me to sleep. My last thought as I drifted off was: “God, please, just give me a hint.”
We live in troubling times. Though Wall Street is declaring victory those of us in the trenches still live in fear of our security, our livelihood and our jobs. The seemingly logical response is to overwork; to somehow justify ourselves by the level of effort we exert or the amount of hours we spend at work. Surely this will keep us safe and secure.
We must, however, learn to resist overwork. Aside from the fatigue and worry to which it leads it also damages our relationship with our family, our friends and our God. We chronic workaholics often wonder why our families and friends sometimes seem distant or why our lives seem out of sync with theirs. In point of fact building relationships takes time and effort. Time and effort we often expend on our jobs in our attempts to “build our careers”. How often do we find ourselves responding to a personal invitation with, “I can’t, I have to work.”
The same thing is true of our relationship with God. As I lay there that night, wondering where God had gone I neglected to realize God hadn’t gone anywhere. I had. God was there for me. It was my side of the relationship which had gone wanting. Just like the family and friends my work life had caused me to neglect and with which I had fallen out of sync, so had my relationship with God fallen out of sync.
Like my loving wife waiting for me at home, God is always there for us. The dinner is always on the table when we get there, but we need to make the effort, through being good stewards of our time, to constantly build our relationship with our God; To know Him as personally and intimately as we know (or should know) our family. Learn to distribute your life’s efforts and don’t worry…God’s already got you on his schedule.
Dear God: Teach me to be a good steward of my time on earth.
“One of the symptoms of an approaching nervous breakdown is the belief that one’s work is terribly important.” ~Bertrand Russell, American logician and philosopher (1872-1970)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, February 18, 2011
Friday, February 11, 2011
My Way or...
"Effective listeners remember that words have no meaning - people have meaning." ~ Larry Barker, Investigative Reporter
Roman and I sat listening to the discussion. Listening is an acquired skill for me, and not one which comes naturally. We had come to this meeting with two agendas (one which was written down and another which was firmly planted in our heads). Now our ideas for a simple reception were evaporating like dry ice on hot asphalt.
In front of us sat five bright, creative individuals in their mid-twenties to early thirties. Watching a plan unfold in the midst of quality, respectful discussion can be exciting and energizing, provided you don’t feel the need to protect your agendas. It is like experiencing the creation of a jigsaw puzzle from scratch. Ideas, like puzzle pieces, play off one another. Some fit together, some do not. Some are set aside for later and some are simply cast aside. As the image or plan takes shape open spaces appear. Spaces which are later filled with supplemental ideas.
Such was Roman’s and my evening with the YMA Core Team (Young Ministering Adults). We had come to ask if the Team would do a reception in support of our Capital Campaign. We knew a wine and cheese gathering would not be appropriate for a “beer and pizza generation”, but our best intentions had missed the mark. We had tried to use, what a marketing friend of mine calls the “same girl, different dress” approach. No matter how you present it, a reception is a reception whether you serve champagne and caviar, wine and cheese, or beer and taco chips.
What this group envisioned was something more expansive and engaging. Rather than a reception they were going to hold a “Participation Celebration” at the end of an appropriate period of cultivation. There goal was to use our campaign initiative to reconnect their membership with the core values of our faith, with their ministry and with a sense of stewardship. Their rallying cries were simple: “Why do we belong” and “Why do we give back?”
When we departed that evening, it was not simply with a commitment to do a reception. Rather, we left with a commitment to a three and a half month plan of engagement and preparation; a plan, not simply to raise a few bucks; but a plan, which would deepen their membership’s spirituality in the process.
“What do you think,” Roman asked as we returned to our offices. “How could I say no?” I replied with a smile.
As Christian Stewards we are not simply the caretakers of our own gifts of time, talent and treasure. We are also called to nurture and interface with the gifts of others. Unfortunately we live in a world which often values speed of execution at the expense of quality and engagement. As a result many of us find ourselves driven to get to the quickest conclusion rather than engaging in the evolutionary process required to reach the best solution.
In an effort to reach a quick result we burden ourselves with the assumption that we need to be the one with the right answers or the best solutions. This is true even when we are surrounded by people who share our desire for a successful completion; people with a variety of gifts and perspectives.
The result is we become protectionists rather than facilitators. We choose to wrestle others to the ground verbally to win the day for our point of view, rather than selecting and incorporating all the good ideas others have to offer; allowing a final product to evolve.
Does this mean formulating a plan is easy within a group? No, quite the contrary; the single decision maker will always be more efficient than a group, but will they be more affective? Coming to a group conclusion, in which all feel engaged and empowered can be frustrating, time consuming and even a little annoying. The results however are usually better, often richer, multi-faceted and the resulting buy-in means you have a room full of advocates when the implementation starts.
We are called to use our gifts of time and talent, but we are also called to respect, nurture, and affirm the gifts of others. Our mission in life is to help save the world. But God never said we had to do it alone.
Dear God: Help me be a better steward of the gifts of others.
"An essential part of true listening is…the temporary giving up or setting aside of one's own prejudices, frames of reference and desires so as to experience…the speaker's world from the inside…” ~M. Scott Peck, MD, American psychiatrist and best-selling author (1936-2005)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Roman and I sat listening to the discussion. Listening is an acquired skill for me, and not one which comes naturally. We had come to this meeting with two agendas (one which was written down and another which was firmly planted in our heads). Now our ideas for a simple reception were evaporating like dry ice on hot asphalt.
In front of us sat five bright, creative individuals in their mid-twenties to early thirties. Watching a plan unfold in the midst of quality, respectful discussion can be exciting and energizing, provided you don’t feel the need to protect your agendas. It is like experiencing the creation of a jigsaw puzzle from scratch. Ideas, like puzzle pieces, play off one another. Some fit together, some do not. Some are set aside for later and some are simply cast aside. As the image or plan takes shape open spaces appear. Spaces which are later filled with supplemental ideas.
Such was Roman’s and my evening with the YMA Core Team (Young Ministering Adults). We had come to ask if the Team would do a reception in support of our Capital Campaign. We knew a wine and cheese gathering would not be appropriate for a “beer and pizza generation”, but our best intentions had missed the mark. We had tried to use, what a marketing friend of mine calls the “same girl, different dress” approach. No matter how you present it, a reception is a reception whether you serve champagne and caviar, wine and cheese, or beer and taco chips.
What this group envisioned was something more expansive and engaging. Rather than a reception they were going to hold a “Participation Celebration” at the end of an appropriate period of cultivation. There goal was to use our campaign initiative to reconnect their membership with the core values of our faith, with their ministry and with a sense of stewardship. Their rallying cries were simple: “Why do we belong” and “Why do we give back?”
When we departed that evening, it was not simply with a commitment to do a reception. Rather, we left with a commitment to a three and a half month plan of engagement and preparation; a plan, not simply to raise a few bucks; but a plan, which would deepen their membership’s spirituality in the process.
“What do you think,” Roman asked as we returned to our offices. “How could I say no?” I replied with a smile.
As Christian Stewards we are not simply the caretakers of our own gifts of time, talent and treasure. We are also called to nurture and interface with the gifts of others. Unfortunately we live in a world which often values speed of execution at the expense of quality and engagement. As a result many of us find ourselves driven to get to the quickest conclusion rather than engaging in the evolutionary process required to reach the best solution.
In an effort to reach a quick result we burden ourselves with the assumption that we need to be the one with the right answers or the best solutions. This is true even when we are surrounded by people who share our desire for a successful completion; people with a variety of gifts and perspectives.
The result is we become protectionists rather than facilitators. We choose to wrestle others to the ground verbally to win the day for our point of view, rather than selecting and incorporating all the good ideas others have to offer; allowing a final product to evolve.
Does this mean formulating a plan is easy within a group? No, quite the contrary; the single decision maker will always be more efficient than a group, but will they be more affective? Coming to a group conclusion, in which all feel engaged and empowered can be frustrating, time consuming and even a little annoying. The results however are usually better, often richer, multi-faceted and the resulting buy-in means you have a room full of advocates when the implementation starts.
We are called to use our gifts of time and talent, but we are also called to respect, nurture, and affirm the gifts of others. Our mission in life is to help save the world. But God never said we had to do it alone.
Dear God: Help me be a better steward of the gifts of others.
"An essential part of true listening is…the temporary giving up or setting aside of one's own prejudices, frames of reference and desires so as to experience…the speaker's world from the inside…” ~M. Scott Peck, MD, American psychiatrist and best-selling author (1936-2005)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, February 4, 2011
Pray as You Go
“The time of business does not with me differ from the time of prayer; and in the noise and clatter…I possess God in as great a tranquility as if I were upon my knees...” ~Brother Lawrence, born Nicolas Herman, French Carmelite monk (1614-1691)
The spiritual based personal finance class was filled to overflowing. Couples, singles, even moms bringing their adult children, had come to wrestle with the issues of a bad economy and some bad financial decisions along the way. The parish center living room was large by living room standards, but not large enough for this group.
Even so, we found room somehow. Using a combination of portable chairs and clever manipulation of the seating arrangement we managed to fit everyone in, with a little space left for a single aisle.
It was Thursday evening and I stopped by the living room to check in with our coordinators Deborah and Daniel. Deborah, a cradle Catholic and Daniel, a Baptist, made for an interesting teaching combination. Both were always infectiously enthusiastic and thoroughly prepared.
Peering in through the open door I saw Deborah busily doing makeup work with a couple who had missed class the week before. Daniel was carefully and methodically placing each chair into the customized arrangement.
Not wanting to disturb them, I left for an evening meeting, deciding to check back by email the next morning. The thought of Daniel putting out all those chairs by himself bothered me, however. We have staff that does this sort of thing.
The next day Deborah sent me her usual Friday morning update. I responded in kind, complementing them on the wonderful job they were doing and giving them a status on the class kits we had ordered. “Daniel doesn’t need to set up the chairs.” I concluded. “Our maintenance people can do that for you.”
Within the hour I had a response from Deb covering some additional details. The email ended with a simple statement: “Thank you for the offer, but Daniel would like to continue to put the chairs out himself. As he puts each chair in place he says a prayer for the person who will be seated there that evening.”
Most of us envision prayer as a formality; something which is only done at specific times, in particular situations or under certain circumstances. We are accustomed to invocations at large events, or saying grace before a meal, or the prayers we say at Sunday services. Otherwise, prayer is pretty much excluded from our daily, “real world” lives, relegated to the back waters of our spirituality.
There are many reasons for this. We are afraid what people might think if they “caught us” praying. Or, grasping for every second we can spare, we see prayer as too time consuming. Perhaps regular prayer was simply never suggested to us, never occurred to us, or we never thought we had license to pray outside of church.
Whether we realize it or not, prayer is an important part of our daily life. It connects the sacred with our otherwise secular world. It infuses God into our daily lives. It sanctifies our day.
It also connects us to the lives of others for whom we pray. Daniel connected himself to every member of the class by praying for them. This undoubtedly had an affect upon the way he taught them and his relationship with them.
Often, we hoard our gift of time thinking we have to carve out blocks of it to give to God. This is not necessarily so. Daniel, by praying as he set out chairs, was multi-tasking in a very special way. His gift of prayer was doled out over time, not in blocks, but in continuous precious pieces.
God calls us to pray constantly, not just when we are in church; but when we are driving to work, cutting the lawn or even setting out chairs.
Pray as you go!
Dear God: teach me to pray all through the day.
“Accustom yourself gradually to carry prayer into all your daily occupation - speak, act, work in peace, as if you were in prayer, as indeed you ought to be.” ~François Fénelon, French Roman Catholic archbishop, theologian, poet, and writer (1651-1715)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
The spiritual based personal finance class was filled to overflowing. Couples, singles, even moms bringing their adult children, had come to wrestle with the issues of a bad economy and some bad financial decisions along the way. The parish center living room was large by living room standards, but not large enough for this group.
Even so, we found room somehow. Using a combination of portable chairs and clever manipulation of the seating arrangement we managed to fit everyone in, with a little space left for a single aisle.
It was Thursday evening and I stopped by the living room to check in with our coordinators Deborah and Daniel. Deborah, a cradle Catholic and Daniel, a Baptist, made for an interesting teaching combination. Both were always infectiously enthusiastic and thoroughly prepared.
Peering in through the open door I saw Deborah busily doing makeup work with a couple who had missed class the week before. Daniel was carefully and methodically placing each chair into the customized arrangement.
Not wanting to disturb them, I left for an evening meeting, deciding to check back by email the next morning. The thought of Daniel putting out all those chairs by himself bothered me, however. We have staff that does this sort of thing.
The next day Deborah sent me her usual Friday morning update. I responded in kind, complementing them on the wonderful job they were doing and giving them a status on the class kits we had ordered. “Daniel doesn’t need to set up the chairs.” I concluded. “Our maintenance people can do that for you.”
Within the hour I had a response from Deb covering some additional details. The email ended with a simple statement: “Thank you for the offer, but Daniel would like to continue to put the chairs out himself. As he puts each chair in place he says a prayer for the person who will be seated there that evening.”
Most of us envision prayer as a formality; something which is only done at specific times, in particular situations or under certain circumstances. We are accustomed to invocations at large events, or saying grace before a meal, or the prayers we say at Sunday services. Otherwise, prayer is pretty much excluded from our daily, “real world” lives, relegated to the back waters of our spirituality.
There are many reasons for this. We are afraid what people might think if they “caught us” praying. Or, grasping for every second we can spare, we see prayer as too time consuming. Perhaps regular prayer was simply never suggested to us, never occurred to us, or we never thought we had license to pray outside of church.
Whether we realize it or not, prayer is an important part of our daily life. It connects the sacred with our otherwise secular world. It infuses God into our daily lives. It sanctifies our day.
It also connects us to the lives of others for whom we pray. Daniel connected himself to every member of the class by praying for them. This undoubtedly had an affect upon the way he taught them and his relationship with them.
Often, we hoard our gift of time thinking we have to carve out blocks of it to give to God. This is not necessarily so. Daniel, by praying as he set out chairs, was multi-tasking in a very special way. His gift of prayer was doled out over time, not in blocks, but in continuous precious pieces.
God calls us to pray constantly, not just when we are in church; but when we are driving to work, cutting the lawn or even setting out chairs.
Pray as you go!
Dear God: teach me to pray all through the day.
“Accustom yourself gradually to carry prayer into all your daily occupation - speak, act, work in peace, as if you were in prayer, as indeed you ought to be.” ~François Fénelon, French Roman Catholic archbishop, theologian, poet, and writer (1651-1715)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, January 28, 2011
Pray For Me
“We must build a new world, a far better world – one in which the eternal dignity of man is respected.” ~ Harry S. Truman, 33rd President of the United States (1884-1972)
The new member reception was in full swing. I was in the rectory pantry retrieving a fresh bottle of wine when the back door bell erupted with a bbbbbbbrrring sound. Glancing through the doorway into the kitchen Arlene, the rectory chef, was busily serving the Priests dinner. The door was an arm's length away. I reached for the knob with a perfunctory, “I’ll get it!” Pushing it open I expected to find a reception guest standing there, having mistaken the kitchen door for the main entrance to the rectory.
Instead, I came face to face with a little, old woman. Dressed in a knit sweater and baggy pink slacks she stared at me for a moment apparently collecting her thoughts. “Is there a priest here?” she asked. A question meant to validate this was a rectory rather than summon the clergy. “Can I help you instead?” She stared at me again. After a hesitation she launched into a convoluted story. In short, food was to have been distributed in the park across the street. She had waited all day, but nobody came.
“I’m sorry to hear that…” but before I could finish, “Do you have any bread?” She asked abruptly. “Wait right here.” I said with a smile and headed off to the food tables at the reception located in the dining room. Returning with a plate full of hors d'oeuvres I handed them over. She inspected them carefully. Finding them to her liking she repeated the same story about the food distribution over again…word for word.
Then, having made her point, she headed down the stairs, waving and saying “thank you” with out turning to look at me. The old woman disappeared down the driveway and into the dark. I grabbed the bottle of wine and headed back to the dining room.
An hour or so later I was again in the pantry placing empty wine bottles in the recycling bin. Déjà Vu! The door bell came to life with the same bbbbbbbrrring sound. “She can’t have come back?” I thought, reaching for the knob, but instead of the old woman, a man stood at the door. His ruddy skin, dark from exposure, scraggly beard, limp soiled clothes, seemingly covered with a light film of coco dust and hungry, desperate eyes left no doubt he was homeless. His arms were wrapped around his shoulders and he was shivering.
“Hi, how can I help you?” I asked. “Do you have a blanket I can use?” he replied. Turning to Arlene who was busily cleaning up the in the kitchen I asked if we had any old blankets. “Just a minute,” she responded. “You get the blanket, I’ll get the food,” I called after her heading back to the dining room.
I returned first. “Would you like some food,” I asked the man. “Sure” he responded hesitantly.
Arlene’s voice turned me around. “This is all we have.” In her arms was a bed pillow in a plain, white, pillow case and a quilted bed cover. “They will have to do.” I smiled. Taking them from her I handed them out the door to the man expecting nothing more than a “thank you”. “I can’t take these,” he yelped in shock stepping backward. “These are from your bed.” “That’s OK,” I assured him. “These are extras.” “Can I give you something for them?” He stammered, still staring at the bedding, though he obviously had nothing to give. “My name’s Jim; you can pray for me. I can always use prayers,” was all I could think of.
He looked up from his bedding and food his face brightening. Taking a step or two back he stared into the heavens and launched into a series of prayers; some I recognized and some which were obviously improvised. By the time he had finished he had asked for the intercessions of God, Jesus, Mary, Moses, the Holy Ghost, the Trinity and a few Saints I had never heard of.
Finally, he finished and brought his eyes earthward. “Thank you.” I said sincerely. He nodded and headed down the driveway. Just before he reached the side walk and turned out of sight, he spoke over his shoulder: “Don’t worry Jeff, I’ll pray for you,” he shouted and disappeared.
I smiled to myself for a moment. Then turned and headed back into the rectory, secure in the belief God would know I was Jeff.
Whether we hear them or not, the poor are always knocking at the back door of our lives. No one would argue we need to provide them with life’s basic necessities. Whether it is food for an old woman or a blanket for a homeless man satisfying bodily needs are important and necessary.
It doesn’t stop there however. Mother Teresa was renowned for many things, but she would often ask those in need to pray for her. Even to the point of asking hard core convicts at San Quentin to pray for her. Some of whom she converted.
As faithful stewards, we are called, not only to be our brother’s or sister’s keeper (keeping them fed, keeping them clothed, keeping them warm) but we are also called to care for their spirits. One of the ways we do this is by helping restore their dignity.
When I gave the homeless man the bed cover and pillow his bodily needs were served, but in turn I caused him distress. He was troubled by what I gave him, because he had nothing to give in return. Inadvertently, I had made him feel unworthy.
When, however, I asked for something in return; when I entrusted him with praying for my soul it gave him meaning and purpose. In that moment, the bedding became a symbol of something good, something earned, rather than something undeserved; another reminder of being unworthy.
This not only applies to the needy, the homeless or the incarcerated. It applies to everyone with whom we interact during the course of our daily lives. We are not called to demean others or obligate them. Rather we are called to value them, to see them as God’s creation; as something good. In short, we are called to treat them with the dignity they deserve.
Dear God: Remind me daily to treat your creation with dignity.
“There is no art in turning a goddess into a witch, a virgin into a whore, but the opposite operation, to give dignity to what has been scorned, to make the degraded desirable, that calls for art or for character.” ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, German playwright, poet, novelist and dramatist. (1749-1832)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
The new member reception was in full swing. I was in the rectory pantry retrieving a fresh bottle of wine when the back door bell erupted with a bbbbbbbrrring sound. Glancing through the doorway into the kitchen Arlene, the rectory chef, was busily serving the Priests dinner. The door was an arm's length away. I reached for the knob with a perfunctory, “I’ll get it!” Pushing it open I expected to find a reception guest standing there, having mistaken the kitchen door for the main entrance to the rectory.
Instead, I came face to face with a little, old woman. Dressed in a knit sweater and baggy pink slacks she stared at me for a moment apparently collecting her thoughts. “Is there a priest here?” she asked. A question meant to validate this was a rectory rather than summon the clergy. “Can I help you instead?” She stared at me again. After a hesitation she launched into a convoluted story. In short, food was to have been distributed in the park across the street. She had waited all day, but nobody came.
“I’m sorry to hear that…” but before I could finish, “Do you have any bread?” She asked abruptly. “Wait right here.” I said with a smile and headed off to the food tables at the reception located in the dining room. Returning with a plate full of hors d'oeuvres I handed them over. She inspected them carefully. Finding them to her liking she repeated the same story about the food distribution over again…word for word.
Then, having made her point, she headed down the stairs, waving and saying “thank you” with out turning to look at me. The old woman disappeared down the driveway and into the dark. I grabbed the bottle of wine and headed back to the dining room.
An hour or so later I was again in the pantry placing empty wine bottles in the recycling bin. Déjà Vu! The door bell came to life with the same bbbbbbbrrring sound. “She can’t have come back?” I thought, reaching for the knob, but instead of the old woman, a man stood at the door. His ruddy skin, dark from exposure, scraggly beard, limp soiled clothes, seemingly covered with a light film of coco dust and hungry, desperate eyes left no doubt he was homeless. His arms were wrapped around his shoulders and he was shivering.
“Hi, how can I help you?” I asked. “Do you have a blanket I can use?” he replied. Turning to Arlene who was busily cleaning up the in the kitchen I asked if we had any old blankets. “Just a minute,” she responded. “You get the blanket, I’ll get the food,” I called after her heading back to the dining room.
I returned first. “Would you like some food,” I asked the man. “Sure” he responded hesitantly.
Arlene’s voice turned me around. “This is all we have.” In her arms was a bed pillow in a plain, white, pillow case and a quilted bed cover. “They will have to do.” I smiled. Taking them from her I handed them out the door to the man expecting nothing more than a “thank you”. “I can’t take these,” he yelped in shock stepping backward. “These are from your bed.” “That’s OK,” I assured him. “These are extras.” “Can I give you something for them?” He stammered, still staring at the bedding, though he obviously had nothing to give. “My name’s Jim; you can pray for me. I can always use prayers,” was all I could think of.
He looked up from his bedding and food his face brightening. Taking a step or two back he stared into the heavens and launched into a series of prayers; some I recognized and some which were obviously improvised. By the time he had finished he had asked for the intercessions of God, Jesus, Mary, Moses, the Holy Ghost, the Trinity and a few Saints I had never heard of.
Finally, he finished and brought his eyes earthward. “Thank you.” I said sincerely. He nodded and headed down the driveway. Just before he reached the side walk and turned out of sight, he spoke over his shoulder: “Don’t worry Jeff, I’ll pray for you,” he shouted and disappeared.
I smiled to myself for a moment. Then turned and headed back into the rectory, secure in the belief God would know I was Jeff.
Whether we hear them or not, the poor are always knocking at the back door of our lives. No one would argue we need to provide them with life’s basic necessities. Whether it is food for an old woman or a blanket for a homeless man satisfying bodily needs are important and necessary.
It doesn’t stop there however. Mother Teresa was renowned for many things, but she would often ask those in need to pray for her. Even to the point of asking hard core convicts at San Quentin to pray for her. Some of whom she converted.
As faithful stewards, we are called, not only to be our brother’s or sister’s keeper (keeping them fed, keeping them clothed, keeping them warm) but we are also called to care for their spirits. One of the ways we do this is by helping restore their dignity.
When I gave the homeless man the bed cover and pillow his bodily needs were served, but in turn I caused him distress. He was troubled by what I gave him, because he had nothing to give in return. Inadvertently, I had made him feel unworthy.
When, however, I asked for something in return; when I entrusted him with praying for my soul it gave him meaning and purpose. In that moment, the bedding became a symbol of something good, something earned, rather than something undeserved; another reminder of being unworthy.
This not only applies to the needy, the homeless or the incarcerated. It applies to everyone with whom we interact during the course of our daily lives. We are not called to demean others or obligate them. Rather we are called to value them, to see them as God’s creation; as something good. In short, we are called to treat them with the dignity they deserve.
Dear God: Remind me daily to treat your creation with dignity.
“There is no art in turning a goddess into a witch, a virgin into a whore, but the opposite operation, to give dignity to what has been scorned, to make the degraded desirable, that calls for art or for character.” ~Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, German playwright, poet, novelist and dramatist. (1749-1832)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Holy Ground
“Ritual is necessary for us to know anything.” ~ Ken Kesey, American author, best known for “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest” (1935-2001)
I was nestled uncomfortably between Roberto and Javier. Both wore lace up sneakers and dark pants with elastic waistbands (signs of special privilege in their world). Roberto, whose girlfriend’s name was tattooed on his chin, compulsively smoothed his flat shoelaces with his thumbs placing them at a precise 30 degree angle.
Glancing side to side at each of them I pondered how different were the worlds from whence we had come. I am a baby boomer with a Masters Degree, born into a conservative, white, east-coast, Presbyterian, nuclear family. As the middle child and the oldest son of five, we were not well to do, but I never knew real hunger, poverty or danger. My wife and I married in our twenties after a formal courtship. Our daughter was born two years after our wedding. If you looked up “middle class” in the dictionary, you would see my picture.
Javier’s and Roberto’s stories are much different than mine. They are first generation Hispanic and grew up on the mean streets of Los Angeles. Both survived their gang initiation. Neither have parents to speak of; before arriving at the facility Javier lived with his grandmother, and Roberto with his older half sister. Though still in his teens, Roberto has a two year old daughter. Neither finished High School and both learned to fight, steal and survive before they were twelve.
Both were at the detention camp, where we now sat, for parole violations meaning this was not their first time. Their pants and shoes were signs of good behavior for which they received special privileges (others wore shoes with Velcro straps or slip-ons). Shoelaces can be used to harm others, and one’s self, so being permitted to have them was a sign of trust.
“Nothing in common” I thought. What was a 50ish middle class guy like me going to say to these two? How would I be able to relate to these two “boys” who were, for all intents and purposes, streetwise kids, old and jaded before their time?
And then…Mass started.
Rituals are a feature of almost all known human societies. Whether it is as simple as brushing our teeth every night, just before we go to bed, or as grand as high Mass at St. Peter’s Basilica ritual is a necessary part of our lives. Rituals introduce us to the community (i.e. baptism, Brit Milah or bris) or act as rites of passage (i.e. confirmation, Bar Mitzvah, gang initiation, or even ordination). They also escort us out of this life (i.e. wakes, sitting Shiva, Los Dios de los Muertos).
Though it exists in all aspects of our lives, the word “ritual” seems foreign and obscure to most of us. Shrouded in mystery and incense we see it as part of another world or time. And yet, ritual has a very practical side. In a world of uncertainty it provides us constancy and comfort. Life is sometimes scary, because it is always unpredictable. From the psychologists’ point of view ritual is a form of repetitive behavior systematically used to suppress or prevent anxiety. But most importantly, ritual helps us to know what to do in those times when we do not.
I can prepare for work in the early morning because I have a “ritual:” doing certain things in a certain order often without thinking. Funeral rituals help us to get through the particularly difficult times in our lives when loved ones die. Rituals sustain us and give us hand holds in an otherwise uncertain world. Colors, symbols and certain actions take on significance.
But, imagine for a moment you are Javier or Roberto living with nothing to “ground” you in life. Never knowing what will happen to you or how to respond when it does; never having the constancy of a family or a sense of safety or security. Is it any wonder the young people in their position are so easily enticed into joining a gang? The certainty and identity a gang provides, harsh as it may be, is more attractive than the uncertainty of the lives they were living before. They know what to expect, how to behave, what colors to wear and even what marks (tattoos) to place on their bodies. It suppresses the anxiety in their lives.
So where did I find a place in which I could relate to Roberto and Javier; in the ritual of Mass. It was the only common ground we had. It was an opportunity to enter each other’s world safely. Rather than a gang tattoo we identified ourselves by the sign of the cross. Rather than an intricate handshake as a greeting, we hugged one another at the sign of peace. And when it came time to receive the Eucharist we approached Christ as equals, receiving the same infinite measure of love which is Christ’s promise.
In the end the only common ground, was holy ground.
Dear God: May I meet others today on holy ground.
“To pray together, in whatever tongue or ritual, is the most tender brotherhood of hope and sympathy that man can contract in this life.” ~ Madame de Staël, French-Speaking Swiss author (1766-1817)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” is a reflection on being a Christian Steward in a secular and sometimes harsh world. This reflection is written by James E. Carper, Stewardship Coordinator for Saint Monica Catholic Community in Santa Monica, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
I was nestled uncomfortably between Roberto and Javier. Both wore lace up sneakers and dark pants with elastic waistbands (signs of special privilege in their world). Roberto, whose girlfriend’s name was tattooed on his chin, compulsively smoothed his flat shoelaces with his thumbs placing them at a precise 30 degree angle.
Glancing side to side at each of them I pondered how different were the worlds from whence we had come. I am a baby boomer with a Masters Degree, born into a conservative, white, east-coast, Presbyterian, nuclear family. As the middle child and the oldest son of five, we were not well to do, but I never knew real hunger, poverty or danger. My wife and I married in our twenties after a formal courtship. Our daughter was born two years after our wedding. If you looked up “middle class” in the dictionary, you would see my picture.
Javier’s and Roberto’s stories are much different than mine. They are first generation Hispanic and grew up on the mean streets of Los Angeles. Both survived their gang initiation. Neither have parents to speak of; before arriving at the facility Javier lived with his grandmother, and Roberto with his older half sister. Though still in his teens, Roberto has a two year old daughter. Neither finished High School and both learned to fight, steal and survive before they were twelve.
Both were at the detention camp, where we now sat, for parole violations meaning this was not their first time. Their pants and shoes were signs of good behavior for which they received special privileges (others wore shoes with Velcro straps or slip-ons). Shoelaces can be used to harm others, and one’s self, so being permitted to have them was a sign of trust.
“Nothing in common” I thought. What was a 50ish middle class guy like me going to say to these two? How would I be able to relate to these two “boys” who were, for all intents and purposes, streetwise kids, old and jaded before their time?
And then…Mass started.
Rituals are a feature of almost all known human societies. Whether it is as simple as brushing our teeth every night, just before we go to bed, or as grand as high Mass at St. Peter’s Basilica ritual is a necessary part of our lives. Rituals introduce us to the community (i.e. baptism, Brit Milah or bris) or act as rites of passage (i.e. confirmation, Bar Mitzvah, gang initiation, or even ordination). They also escort us out of this life (i.e. wakes, sitting Shiva, Los Dios de los Muertos).
Though it exists in all aspects of our lives, the word “ritual” seems foreign and obscure to most of us. Shrouded in mystery and incense we see it as part of another world or time. And yet, ritual has a very practical side. In a world of uncertainty it provides us constancy and comfort. Life is sometimes scary, because it is always unpredictable. From the psychologists’ point of view ritual is a form of repetitive behavior systematically used to suppress or prevent anxiety. But most importantly, ritual helps us to know what to do in those times when we do not.
I can prepare for work in the early morning because I have a “ritual:” doing certain things in a certain order often without thinking. Funeral rituals help us to get through the particularly difficult times in our lives when loved ones die. Rituals sustain us and give us hand holds in an otherwise uncertain world. Colors, symbols and certain actions take on significance.
But, imagine for a moment you are Javier or Roberto living with nothing to “ground” you in life. Never knowing what will happen to you or how to respond when it does; never having the constancy of a family or a sense of safety or security. Is it any wonder the young people in their position are so easily enticed into joining a gang? The certainty and identity a gang provides, harsh as it may be, is more attractive than the uncertainty of the lives they were living before. They know what to expect, how to behave, what colors to wear and even what marks (tattoos) to place on their bodies. It suppresses the anxiety in their lives.
So where did I find a place in which I could relate to Roberto and Javier; in the ritual of Mass. It was the only common ground we had. It was an opportunity to enter each other’s world safely. Rather than a gang tattoo we identified ourselves by the sign of the cross. Rather than an intricate handshake as a greeting, we hugged one another at the sign of peace. And when it came time to receive the Eucharist we approached Christ as equals, receiving the same infinite measure of love which is Christ’s promise.
In the end the only common ground, was holy ground.
Dear God: May I meet others today on holy ground.
“To pray together, in whatever tongue or ritual, is the most tender brotherhood of hope and sympathy that man can contract in this life.” ~ Madame de Staël, French-Speaking Swiss author (1766-1817)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” is a reflection on being a Christian Steward in a secular and sometimes harsh world. This reflection is written by James E. Carper, Stewardship Coordinator for Saint Monica Catholic Community in Santa Monica, California. All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, January 14, 2011
Grace Under Fire
“Grace isn’t a little prayer you chant before receiving a meal. It’s a way to live.” ~ attributed to Jacqueline Winspear, English author
The computer keys made a clacking sound as I clattered away on the key board. I use a modified two index finger method as I never learned the more eloquent touch typing approach. The two finger method was much more satisfying anyway because I was frustrated…really frustrated.
The center of an office cat fight is never pleasant. People flexing there political muscles in the relative safety of cyber space. As usual there had been plenty of finger pointing and butt covering served up from the safe distance of offices and cubicles; like firing artillery into the enemy lines. Tragically, in today’s work environment there often are no “lines”, making everyone and anyone a target. As long as “me” comes out on top the impact on “you” doesn’t matter much.
Now it was my turn. I like to call my method the “paper cut and lemon juice” approach; inflicting maximum discomfort without the appearance of having caused any. This particular writing style requires a delicate touch; one wants to sound concerned without appearing patronizing or condescending; pointing out tragic mistakes in the spirit of helpfulness. Once mastered it is a particularly effective method as it allows one to stand honorably above the rest while squashing the competition like roaches and perhaps even being promoted for doing so.
Stopping my clatter for a moment I scanned the screen rubbing my chapped hands together, my lips moving as I read the document out loud to myself; making sure the tone was just right. A word correction here and some punctuation there; a strategically placed underline there and a little bit of bolding here; then it was ready to go. My finger hovered over the send key which would propel my electronic missile off into cyberspace creating havoc as it went.
Then…I paused.
Years of experience reminded me: though I had gleefully approached my task up to this point; once I hit that key my glee would turn to guilt and my enthusiasm to worry. I returned to my draft and for another ten minutes fiddled with what I had written. But, regardless of what I did, it still came out wrong.
Finally, I decided I would rather be happy than right. I clicked the X in the upper right corner of the screen. The “Do you want to save changes?” box appeared. I clicked “No”. The screen went clear and refreshed.
I retrieved the original string of offensive emails and tapped the mouse as the cursor hovered over “Reply to all”. I typed the following: “Is there anything I can do to help remedy this situation?” A moment later, with a sigh of relief, it was sent.
When we are frustrated, resentful, unsettled, or upset, no matter the reason, the cause is usually within us. We must look inward not outward to resolve our issues. It is not the event, which stirs us up and clouds our vision. Rather it debris of our life which we carry with us which obscures our view. Faith was once described as a state of being in which no one can steal your peace.
And yet, our feelings are hurt, our ego bruised or we feel disrespected and we want others to “feel our pain”. Or perhaps more accurately, since we feel pain, they should too.
Perhaps surprising to some, it is stewardship which can provide an answer to our daily angst and frustration. Many of us see stewardship as a way for the church to get something out of us (more money, more volunteer time, etc.) without realizing it is intended to make us better, happier, more alive. In this regard, the restorative power of stewardship is often overlooked.
When I locked myself in email jail to do battle I had convinced myself I was defending a principle. What I was really defending was a need to be right, a need to be validated, a need for my ego to be protected.
Stewardship teaches us to be grateful for everything. When we live our lives knowing we are showered with God’s grace, pettiness dims in comparison and defense is unnecessary.
When I am truly grateful for all that I have: a job, people with which to interact, a desk, a computer on which I can communicate with the world (and write unkind things things without the fear of the police breaking down my door), it corrects my otherwise lopsided perspective. What I thought needed to be defended really didn’t.
Once I have identified what is askew with in me I can see the world anew. It is hard to engage in office politics when you are saying to yourself “I am truly blessed and forever grateful.” Gratitude is the key to a happy life.
Dear God: Make me forever grateful.
“Can you see the holiness in those things you take for granted–a paved road or a washing machine? If you concentrate on finding what is good in every situation, you will discover that your life will suddenly be filled with gratitude, a feeling that nurtures the soul.” ~ Rabbi Harold Kushner, prominent American rabbi and author (b 1935)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
The computer keys made a clacking sound as I clattered away on the key board. I use a modified two index finger method as I never learned the more eloquent touch typing approach. The two finger method was much more satisfying anyway because I was frustrated…really frustrated.
The center of an office cat fight is never pleasant. People flexing there political muscles in the relative safety of cyber space. As usual there had been plenty of finger pointing and butt covering served up from the safe distance of offices and cubicles; like firing artillery into the enemy lines. Tragically, in today’s work environment there often are no “lines”, making everyone and anyone a target. As long as “me” comes out on top the impact on “you” doesn’t matter much.
Now it was my turn. I like to call my method the “paper cut and lemon juice” approach; inflicting maximum discomfort without the appearance of having caused any. This particular writing style requires a delicate touch; one wants to sound concerned without appearing patronizing or condescending; pointing out tragic mistakes in the spirit of helpfulness. Once mastered it is a particularly effective method as it allows one to stand honorably above the rest while squashing the competition like roaches and perhaps even being promoted for doing so.
Stopping my clatter for a moment I scanned the screen rubbing my chapped hands together, my lips moving as I read the document out loud to myself; making sure the tone was just right. A word correction here and some punctuation there; a strategically placed underline there and a little bit of bolding here; then it was ready to go. My finger hovered over the send key which would propel my electronic missile off into cyberspace creating havoc as it went.
Then…I paused.
Years of experience reminded me: though I had gleefully approached my task up to this point; once I hit that key my glee would turn to guilt and my enthusiasm to worry. I returned to my draft and for another ten minutes fiddled with what I had written. But, regardless of what I did, it still came out wrong.
Finally, I decided I would rather be happy than right. I clicked the X in the upper right corner of the screen. The “Do you want to save changes?” box appeared. I clicked “No”. The screen went clear and refreshed.
I retrieved the original string of offensive emails and tapped the mouse as the cursor hovered over “Reply to all”. I typed the following: “Is there anything I can do to help remedy this situation?” A moment later, with a sigh of relief, it was sent.
When we are frustrated, resentful, unsettled, or upset, no matter the reason, the cause is usually within us. We must look inward not outward to resolve our issues. It is not the event, which stirs us up and clouds our vision. Rather it debris of our life which we carry with us which obscures our view. Faith was once described as a state of being in which no one can steal your peace.
And yet, our feelings are hurt, our ego bruised or we feel disrespected and we want others to “feel our pain”. Or perhaps more accurately, since we feel pain, they should too.
Perhaps surprising to some, it is stewardship which can provide an answer to our daily angst and frustration. Many of us see stewardship as a way for the church to get something out of us (more money, more volunteer time, etc.) without realizing it is intended to make us better, happier, more alive. In this regard, the restorative power of stewardship is often overlooked.
When I locked myself in email jail to do battle I had convinced myself I was defending a principle. What I was really defending was a need to be right, a need to be validated, a need for my ego to be protected.
Stewardship teaches us to be grateful for everything. When we live our lives knowing we are showered with God’s grace, pettiness dims in comparison and defense is unnecessary.
When I am truly grateful for all that I have: a job, people with which to interact, a desk, a computer on which I can communicate with the world (and write unkind things things without the fear of the police breaking down my door), it corrects my otherwise lopsided perspective. What I thought needed to be defended really didn’t.
Once I have identified what is askew with in me I can see the world anew. It is hard to engage in office politics when you are saying to yourself “I am truly blessed and forever grateful.” Gratitude is the key to a happy life.
Dear God: Make me forever grateful.
“Can you see the holiness in those things you take for granted–a paved road or a washing machine? If you concentrate on finding what is good in every situation, you will discover that your life will suddenly be filled with gratitude, a feeling that nurtures the soul.” ~ Rabbi Harold Kushner, prominent American rabbi and author (b 1935)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Close Encounters
“A good traveler has no fixed plans, and is not intent on arriving.” ~Lao Tzu, Chinese philosopher, founder of Taoism (600 BC -531 BC)
It had been pouring rain off and on for three days. All our plans for that Sunday had been washed away with the winter rains. We had arranged a special birthday experience for our daughter, Angela, combining brunch at a local restaurant of her choosing, a trip to visit her Grandmother in the convalescent home and a gratis “hair-do” by her favorite beautician. We had a long history with this particular beautician. Joanne had styled Angela’s hair since high school including proms, formals, graduations and even her wedding. For all intents and purposes she was family.
Our best laid plans were no match for the intervals of torrential downpours. Angela’s drive up the 405 from Redondo Beach, hampered by weather and traffic accidents, had taken twice as long as usual. Undoubtedly, the trip back, in the twilight of early winter darkness, would take as long if not longer.
Our plan had been to finish brunch in time to visit her Grandmother during her noon meal. When that didn’t work out Angela headed straight to her Grandmother’s care facility and then to the beautician, blood sugar plummeting due to lack of food.
When Angela arrived at the Hair Style Salon she had put in an emergency call to her mom (Teresa) for food. Still the best take out in town; Teresa packed lunches for the three of us. Then we drove to the salon so we could visit with our daughter during her hairstyling.
I rested in a black swiveling reception chair still dressed in my long, dark brown trench coat. Teresa and Angela sat opposite me in similar padded chairs. Angela’s head was covered with the stuff beauticians put on people’s hair. Sometimes the less you know the better.
So there we sat; munching away on our ham and cheese sandwiches on sprout bread with brown mustard. The meal was rounded out with sliced apples, small bags of cashews, cheese sticks and bottled water. With only one other customer in sight we had the run of the place and had requisitioned an alcove at the back of the shop.
We caught up on family gossip, shared stories, discussed recipes, confirmed holiday plans and generally enjoyed each other’s company. Somewhere along the way we realized the context of our visit didn’t matter; it was each other’s company we enjoyed the most.
Hair rinsed and ready for the scissors we moved to a different part of the salon. It was Joanne’s turn to catch us up on her life and our lives’ frame of reference widened accordingly. There was someone new in Joanne’s life and she shared her joy with us.
As she was finishing up (both the hair-do and the update) we paid the bill (our gift) and said goodbye to our daughter. “This turned out to be a really nice birthday,” she said, giving us each a hug.
After extracting a promise from her to call us when she got home we headed out the door into the rain. An old Woody Allen adage came to mind as we trotted through the parking lot to our car: “If you want to make God smile…tell him your plans.”
It is an irony that life often irritates us by interfering with our plans. Yet it is life which is most important. True stewardship is not how well we plan our time, but how well we live our time. It is not about the execution of our plans, but the experiencing of our life. Crafting our life is not the same as living our life. Life can only be experienced through human encounter, through interacting with the world even when those interactions are not exactly what had in mind for ourselves.
Unfortunately we often allow our happiness to be defined by the flawless execution of our plans. We become frustrated when things don’t work out as we intend. Potentially pleasant human encounters become disappointments over poor execution: the lost reservation, the delayed schedule, the late guest or family member, all pull us away from the simple joy of human interaction. The warmth of sharing our stories, our joys and sometimes even our hurts is dissipated by our need to control. Life was meant to be lived; not managed to death.
If we are to be truly happy in life we need to enjoy the journey, not fret about how well we followed our itinerary. Rest assured God has a different one in mind.
Dear God: Remind me to stop, look and listen.
“We plan our lives according to a dream that came to us in our childhood, and we find that life alters our plans. And yet, at the end, from a rare height, we also see that our dream was our fate. It’s just that providence had other ideas as to how we would get there. Destiny plans a different route, or turns the dream around, as if it were a riddle, and fulfills the dream in ways we couldn’t have expected.” ~Ben Okri, Nigerian author (b1959)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
It had been pouring rain off and on for three days. All our plans for that Sunday had been washed away with the winter rains. We had arranged a special birthday experience for our daughter, Angela, combining brunch at a local restaurant of her choosing, a trip to visit her Grandmother in the convalescent home and a gratis “hair-do” by her favorite beautician. We had a long history with this particular beautician. Joanne had styled Angela’s hair since high school including proms, formals, graduations and even her wedding. For all intents and purposes she was family.
Our best laid plans were no match for the intervals of torrential downpours. Angela’s drive up the 405 from Redondo Beach, hampered by weather and traffic accidents, had taken twice as long as usual. Undoubtedly, the trip back, in the twilight of early winter darkness, would take as long if not longer.
Our plan had been to finish brunch in time to visit her Grandmother during her noon meal. When that didn’t work out Angela headed straight to her Grandmother’s care facility and then to the beautician, blood sugar plummeting due to lack of food.
When Angela arrived at the Hair Style Salon she had put in an emergency call to her mom (Teresa) for food. Still the best take out in town; Teresa packed lunches for the three of us. Then we drove to the salon so we could visit with our daughter during her hairstyling.
I rested in a black swiveling reception chair still dressed in my long, dark brown trench coat. Teresa and Angela sat opposite me in similar padded chairs. Angela’s head was covered with the stuff beauticians put on people’s hair. Sometimes the less you know the better.
So there we sat; munching away on our ham and cheese sandwiches on sprout bread with brown mustard. The meal was rounded out with sliced apples, small bags of cashews, cheese sticks and bottled water. With only one other customer in sight we had the run of the place and had requisitioned an alcove at the back of the shop.
We caught up on family gossip, shared stories, discussed recipes, confirmed holiday plans and generally enjoyed each other’s company. Somewhere along the way we realized the context of our visit didn’t matter; it was each other’s company we enjoyed the most.
Hair rinsed and ready for the scissors we moved to a different part of the salon. It was Joanne’s turn to catch us up on her life and our lives’ frame of reference widened accordingly. There was someone new in Joanne’s life and she shared her joy with us.
As she was finishing up (both the hair-do and the update) we paid the bill (our gift) and said goodbye to our daughter. “This turned out to be a really nice birthday,” she said, giving us each a hug.
After extracting a promise from her to call us when she got home we headed out the door into the rain. An old Woody Allen adage came to mind as we trotted through the parking lot to our car: “If you want to make God smile…tell him your plans.”
It is an irony that life often irritates us by interfering with our plans. Yet it is life which is most important. True stewardship is not how well we plan our time, but how well we live our time. It is not about the execution of our plans, but the experiencing of our life. Crafting our life is not the same as living our life. Life can only be experienced through human encounter, through interacting with the world even when those interactions are not exactly what had in mind for ourselves.
Unfortunately we often allow our happiness to be defined by the flawless execution of our plans. We become frustrated when things don’t work out as we intend. Potentially pleasant human encounters become disappointments over poor execution: the lost reservation, the delayed schedule, the late guest or family member, all pull us away from the simple joy of human interaction. The warmth of sharing our stories, our joys and sometimes even our hurts is dissipated by our need to control. Life was meant to be lived; not managed to death.
If we are to be truly happy in life we need to enjoy the journey, not fret about how well we followed our itinerary. Rest assured God has a different one in mind.
Dear God: Remind me to stop, look and listen.
“We plan our lives according to a dream that came to us in our childhood, and we find that life alters our plans. And yet, at the end, from a rare height, we also see that our dream was our fate. It’s just that providence had other ideas as to how we would get there. Destiny plans a different route, or turns the dream around, as if it were a riddle, and fulfills the dream in ways we couldn’t have expected.” ~Ben Okri, Nigerian author (b1959)
© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.
“90 Second Stewardship” All rights are reserved. You are welcome and encouraged to forward this e-mail to family and friends provided the”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” is included along with this message. Organizations, whether for or non profit, are required to receive written approval before reproducing these reflections. If written approval is given the ”© 2011 James E. Carper. All rights reserved.” must be included along with this message.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)